


hometown yearnings

by melissfiction



Category: Solar Opposites
Genre: Angst, M/M, Missing home, One-Shot, Plant sex, Smut, ex-lifemate angst, lying, references to Rosemary's Baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:21:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27912961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissfiction/pseuds/melissfiction
Summary: Korvo and Terry miss home in different ways.
Relationships: Korvo/Terry (Solar Opposites), Terri/Terry (Solar Opposites)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	hometown yearnings

**Author's Note:**

> Basically I just wanted an excuse to write imagery of Shlorp's architecture. It's a little (insert intro from Toxic by Britney Spears), but the angst makes it spicy.

All of Korvo’s dreams were set in the housing unit he grew up in. Shlorp’s residential districts were a lot different from Earth’s homeowner’s associations—a lot taller. Apartment buildings were the closest cognates to what Shlorp had, but not as drab or symmetrical or hideously rectangular. Everything on Earth seemed to be exploding outwards: their buildings, their city plannings, and especially their population. Shlorpians built upwards, into spiralling points that stabbed the sky instead of scraping it like the horribly clunky buildings in Earth cities. He remembered the tower he grew up in as if he still lived in it. And it felt like he did, until he woke up under Terry’s limp arm to the nightmare planet unaware of its ticking expiration date. 

The dreams felt truer than reality. The brass exterior of his home was shiny, like a french horn singing its solo over an orchestra, and the floor-to-ceiling windows dared to be fragile because there was no danger of shattering in a world where accidents never happened. When Korvo went to the grocery store, the automated sprinklers in the produce section reminded him of the ones at every Shlorpian balcony, misting the lush green foliage that spilled over the edges. The sound of his boots on sidewalk concrete was unfamiliar, because he was used to walkways of glossy marble impervious to smudges. He felt crushed by the atmospheric pressure, even when he climbed out onto the roof of his current home to stargaze. It was heavy compared to the lightness of the 13th floor he grew up on. 

Every day, Korvo woke up on Earth and was forced, through the filter of his dysphoria, to cope with how deformed everything was. Even his own reflection seemed distorted. He had gained weight, and that was because everything useful on Earth had to be driven to, on horizontal flatness that stretched out farther than Korvo’s gut, not climbed to. Sometimes, he looked for cleaning supplies down a hallway that now only existed in his muscle memory to a cabinet that no longer existed. He would stare at the blank wall in between the guest room and the master bedroom and _then_ remember the cleaning supplies were in the downstairs bathroom. It was a humiliating journey that baffled Terry every time. They had always kept their cleaning supplies in the downstairs closet and Korvo was usually diligent about where he put things. 

“I miss home,” Korvo suddenly blurted out. 

It was a school night. The replicants were asleep upstairs, or at least pretending and thankfully keeping out of their way while Terry laid on Korvo’s lap on the living room couch. They were watching Rosemary’s Baby. Neither of them knew the premise or the genre, but so far, they had deduced it was a romantic comedy about a young couple trying to have a baby that moves into a New York City apartment with eccentric neighbors. 

Terry looked up at Korvo’s expression and saw all the misery and yearning he detected in Korvo’s tone. “We _are_ home.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

Terry didn’t like knowing things. He was sure that knowledge was the root of all troubles. The proof was in how blissful Korvo was after being shot with the Dumb Ray ten times. “I could get the vodka out?” Ignorance was the simplest solution. You can’t miss something you don’t think of. 

“That’s not necessary.” 

Terry got up and got the Absolut Vodka out anyway, along with two His and Hers shot glasses that were meant to be a wedding gift for Sally and Dave. Sally was one of their community college classmates. Sally got cold feet a week before the big day after “playing frisbee” with Terry. 

He poured one shot for Korvo and one for himself. Korvo turned down the shot meant for him. Terry downed both. And then another. 

Terry set the shot glasses on the coffee table, next to the bowl of leftover popcorn kernels from when they finished the popcorn within fifteen minutes of the movie’s introduction, then collapsed down on the opposite side of the couch. Apparently, that was the end of their discussion. Korvo expected more—some consolation, a few questions, maybe even a fight. He knew Terry had more to say than a proposition to get drunk. He refused to let the topic slip away. 

“Don’t _you_ miss home?” Korvo asked. 

“You’re not going to like my answer,” Terry warned. 

“I don’t care. Just answer the question.” The worst answer Korvo anticipated was that Terry didn’t miss home, which meant Korvo was the only one being irrationally emotional. Korvo already knew that, though. 

Terry hesitated. Being truly honest with Korvo meant crossing a boundary, a boundary further than raising their replicants together and sharing a bed and “playing frisbee”. He had no problem making out with Korvo, and he would much rather be doing that right now, but the truth—it would shatter the beautiful illusion they were living in. Cuddling. Holding hands. Gentle caresses when they thought the other was asleep. Korvo wouldn’t kiss him the same way if Terry told him what he was really thinking. 

“Just answer the question!”

Terry phrased himself tentatively. “‘Home’ for me isn’t a place. It’s—a feeling.” A feeling with a person, he meant, but he was careful not to be too specific. “And sometimes, just sometimes, I feel that feeling when I’m with you.” Most of the time he didn’t. “I don’t wanna say that I miss home, because you’re the closest thing I have to home. And you’re right here.” 

Korvo didn’t like the awful way his heart wrenched at Terry’s answer. He realized he should have taken Terry’s warning more seriously. “Do you feel that feeling right now?” 

Terry reached out to hold Korvo’s hand, looked him in the eye, smiled, and lied right to his face: 

“Yeah.” 

On the TV, Rosemary complained of the chalky under-taste from the chocolate mousse given to her by her neighbor Minnie. Korvo and Terry watched Rosemary stumble to the floor while being walked to the bedroom—suddenly dizzy—and get their first hint that they weren’t watching a romcom. Their suspicions are immediately confirmed by the flashes of various scenes from Rosemary’s dream, intertwined with real-life. The dream symbolism accumulated into ominous foreshadowing that danger was coming. Dark skies. Crashing waves. Chanting in the dark—a cult? They recognized the red liquid as blood, but they’re not sure of what species. 

“I-Is this how humans make babies?” Korvo asked, fearfully. He clung onto Terry’s arm. 

This, Terry was an expert on. “Not usually.” 

Seeing Rosemary’s skin bared for all to see, so smooth and undoubtedly soft—Terry’s mind overlaid those same curves and dips onto his memories of making love to Terri. His heart raced. It gave him the same feeling he missed when he thought of home: the same divinity, the same fulfillment, the same perfection. He wouldn’t desecrate her the way the cult desecrated Rosemary, though. He would cherish her, still _did_ cherish her, still yearned to cherish her with his hands tracing down her soft body. He thought of how quickly that feeling vanished every time Korvo snapped at him or called him stupid or tried to pick a fight with him over the most infinitesimal of matters. 

Terry craved chocolate mousse. 

* * *

Korvo cried at the ending, when Rosemary realized she had given birth to the son of Satan. Terry didn’t think that was the emotional effect the filmmaker intended for. He was disturbed, if anything. 

“Th-That’s awful,” Korvo sobbed. “Everything is ruined. Th-Th-They… They lied to her, they manipulated her, a-a-and now she’s the mother to Satan’s son!” 

“Aw, Korvy, it’s okay!” Terry eyed the bottle of vodka. It was a quarter-full. Last time he had a drink, it was half-full. He forgot Korvo was an emotional drunk. “It’s just a movie, baby. It’s not real.” 

“P-P-Please don’t ever—don’t ever lie to me,” Korvo begged, 

Terry wiped Korvo’s tears away with the back of his hand. “I’ll never lie to you, baby.” He liked hearing Korvo say “please”, for once. That’s how he knew Korvo was absolutely plastered. 

“Don’t ever manipulate me, please.” 

Terry kissed Korvo’s wet cheek. “I’ll never do that.” 

“A-And please, please don’t make me give birth to the anti-Christ!” 

Terry chuckled. “Of course I won’t.” 

He flicked the television off, which left them in darkness, with only Korvo’s soft sobs filling the quiet void left behind by the silencing of the movie credits. Terry kissed Korvo, even though he knew Korvo was too distraught to kiss him back properly. He kissed through the warm saltiness, like a summer’s day ocean swim, and imagined, behind his eyelids, that he was kissing someone that always reminded him of home. Technicolor memories colored the rest in. 

Terry separated from the kiss, but kept his eyes shut. “Let’s go upstairs, baby,” he whispered. 

Terry helped guide Korvo up the stairs. Only yellow street lights filtering through the windows guided their way up. Korvo stumbled a few times, but Terry was there to catch him and keep him steady. Terry shut the master bedroom door behind them and locked it. He kept the lights off. 

Korvo found himself tangled in another kiss, then was pushed backwards onto the bed. Terry straddled him and popped all the buttons on Korvo’s robe open one by one. The exact sequence of events drifted in and out of Korvo’s consciousness. They were kissing again, then Terry’s clothes were off, but maybe Terry’s clothes were off before they were kissing or maybe it happened during. Korvo heard himself moaning softly, then realized that Terry had slipped his root inside of his mound already. 

“Shh.” 

Terry covered Korvo’s mouth with his hand and starting fucking into Korvo’s wetness gently. Terry had never been this gentle with him before. Drunk sex with Terry was like a crime of passion, fast and hard like it was the last thing they would ever do. Briefly, Korvo wondered if this was how Terry fucked women: with sweet kisses on the neck and a foreign tenderness. It felt demeaning. That only made Korvo moan more. Guiltily was the only way Korvo knew how to take pleasure. 

“I love you, baby,” Terry swore. “I love you so fucking much.” 

Korvo bucked his hips up into Terry’s, trying to force Terry’s root in as deep as possible. Terry’s root hit the spot at the very back that made Korvo see stars. Terry spread Korvo’s legs wider and started fucking him harder into that spot, and that made Korvo arch his back and moan louder against Terry’s hand. He wanted to say “I love you" back, but Terry wouldn’t let him. He also wanted Terry to touch his root, but Terry ignored it. Korvo resorted to jerking himself off in time to Terry’s thrusts. The combination of having his mound get fucked into and pumping his own root sent him over the edge within seconds. He spilled his nectar over both of their stomachs. 

Terry turned Korvo onto his left, held up his leg, and started fucking him sideways. Korvo _loved_ how much deeper he was getting slammed into in that position. He gasped and moaned and begged in twisted, sputtering words for more. 

Terry cummed inside of him, but he kept thrusting into Korvo. Forcing his genetic material deeper inside. He angled Korvo’s hips slightly higher and shoved his root all the way inside. 

Terry pulled out and collapsed beside Korvo. He closed his eyes. The feeling he felt before, that feeling that he missed so dearly—it was already gone. 

“I love you, Terry,” Korvo said. 

Terry didn’t say anything back. 

Korvo slipped into sleep. He dreamt of the 13th floor he grew up on, but this time, Terry was there. Gravity was lighter. In his dream, he chased Terry up and down a collection of marble staircases angled in all sorts of nonsensical directions. The doorways at the end of each staircase led to different sceneries: a park, a balcony, a forest, a city. He followed Terry into these various locations, but Terry was always just out of reach. 

Korvo followed Terry off a cliff and gravity was so light that it took him a century to reach the ground.


End file.
